


Get Out (Leave)

by SebsNightmareCure (orphan_account)



Series: 50 Worst Dates (MCU) [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, No Smut, Sub Clint Barton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 10:10:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16093505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SebsNightmareCure
Summary: Natasha is away on a mission, and Clint is feeling neglected. Luckily, Natasha has left him a surprise.





	Get Out (Leave)

**Author's Note:**

> Another day, another worst date. Me, back at it again with the rare pairs. There's no smut in this, but head the gratuitous use of the word 'sexy'. Enjoy.

Clint was sure he was losing his mind. His whole person was being overtaken by a twisted, confused curiosity. He couldn’t go two minutes without thinking about that note Natasha had left for him.

 

_Be good for him - N_

 

Four words - five if you count the initial, which he didn’t - had him unravelling from the brain down. He hadn’t seen her in, like, eight months or something. And that would be crazy if they didn’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D. But they did, and so, despite being on the _same missions_ for a good part of that time, they’d not been physically together in - okay maybe not _eight,_ but - six months. Unless you count that night in Belarus. But that was probably ten minutes. Maybe an hour, tops. So really, three.

 

But that was three months too long. He had _needs._ Okay, they weren’t _needs,_ per say, but they were wants. Strong wants. Half-needs. Self-care necessities. Psychologically helpful life tidbits. Or something. And he was feeling the need. Half-need. The want, but still.

 

That is to say, he was horny. _So horny._ Like, I-might-die-if-I-don’t-get-fucked-soon horny. Okay, maybe not. But he was still really feeling it. And Natasha was spending six weeks assassining in Rome. Without him.

 

And it wasn’t even like they were monogamous. They were loosely fuckbuddies at best. If he was _just_ horny, he could find a few dozen single agents willing to get it on in a heartbeat. Hell, if he was just horny, he might hit up Phil. Or Nick. Or both, like last time. No, he was special horny. For something only he and Nat ever did.

 

He and Nat were a BDSM couple. She was his lovely, sexy, cruel-as-hell domme, and he was her sweet, loving, pain-in-the-ass brat. They just worked like that. One fateful night in Budapest was all it took. She had slapped him, he had moaned, and they’d fucked like rabbits until the sunrise. Since then, they’d been scening together every couple of weeks at least.

 

But, scheduling was a problem. Sometimes, like now, they just couldn’t catch a break. It’d been a hot minute since they’d had the time and the place to really get their freak on. Nat hadn’t even slapped his butt since that debrief four weeks ago. It was torture. And he’d been tortured before, so he would know. This was worse than fingernail pulling. Maybe not, but the sentiment stands.

 

Three days ago he’d snapped. He’d called her, and left a super cringy, super whiny voicemail about how neglected he was feeling. She hadn’t responded, probably ‘cause she was busy kicking ass and taking names in Europe. But, not two hours later, that note had appeared on his kitchen bench while he'd been in the shower. It was in her handwriting, which was insane, ‘cause she was in _Spain._ Or was it Italy. Wherever Rome is. She must have mailed it. He had so many questions.

 

He had stared at the note for a good ten minutes, just in shock. Everything from its appearance to its contents was astounding him. He was confused. Befuddled. Flummoxed. That a was a word he had learned just for this situation. And he was it.

 

He’d been thinking about it so much that he could hardly shoot straight. Okay, not _that much._ But enough that it was a problem. A big one. Bigger than the Battle for New York. Well, not that big, either. Bigger than his half-need for Natasha and her sexy humiliation.Maybe the same size. he was too horny to think of metaphors.

 

And he had finally cracked. He texted Natasha.

 

_who_

 

Who was this sexy, mysterious stranger that he was supposed to be good for. They’d talked about having a threesome, was it one of them?

 

Maria, maybe? Nah, Hill was off diplomatically kissing ass at a conference in Madrid. So, she and Natasha were probably getting it on right now. Rome and Madrid were, like, two minutes away from each other or something. God, he had to learn geography.

 

Ooh, what if it was Cap. Mr. Stars and Stripes was definitely an angry dom type. All that muscle and suppressed pain would make for a smokin’ hot scene. Nope, he was out of town. Something about charity wrestling. And Thor was with him, so he was out of the question too.

 

If it was Sam he was gonna kill her. He wasn’t ready to face him after the Whipped Cream Incident™.Plus, Sam was definitely a sub. No doubt. He was too ready to follow orders or die trying. A power bottom at best. And he didn’t feel like topping.

 

He was saved from wondering by his phone pinging. Two words and one letter from Nat.

 

_Have fun x_

 

And a _shirtless pic of Bucky working out._ ** _Holy Shit._**

 

Damn, he was gonna die tonight. Bucky was, like, all his fantasies and kinks wrapped up in everything he knew he’d never have. They’d talked about having him to spice up the bedroom, but nothing had ever come of it. He kept mostly to himself, and didn’t seem interested in anything. Except his goat. Seriously, he Skyped it. From New York. But now? He wasn’t gonna pass on an opportunity to get rawed by Sergeant Sex-Vibes.

 

_thanks, ma’am_

 

His phone buzzed three seconds later.

 

_Go get him, tiger_

 

And that is what he did. He sprinted into the elevator. JARVIS, the intuitive little shit, had the elevator moving the moment he entered. The best night ever was about to start. Well, as soon as the elevator took him to Barnes. And that took the whole length of his life up to this point and more. Like, seriously, was it broken? He couldn’t wait another second.

 

The doors opened to reveal the gym. And there was Bucky, still lifting weights in exactly the same position he’d been in in the photograph Nat had sent him. That was some crazy, voodoo sex magic shit. Like, how Nat?

 

He shook himself, willing his mind to get back on track. He was on his way to flirt with HYDRA’s favourite brainwashed sniper. He had to be cool. He had to be calm. He had to be seductive. But most of all, he had to be appropriate. No calling him ‘Grandpa’ or anything that would ruin it. He just had to be perfect. But no pressure.

 

He tried to remember everything his pole-dancing teacher had taught him. He had to be a vision of grace and sexuality. He was great at that. _People_ magazine’s Top 100 Sexiest Men Top 10 winner three years running. He could be hot. It was one of his greatest skills.

 

He was just getting his sexy walk down when Bucky spoke.

 

“The hell are you doing with your hips?” he grunted, not looking up from the thirty pound dumbbell he was curling.

 

 _Shit,_ he thought, _I’ve been made. Plan B._

 

“Just walking, Sir. I could do something else, though.” He tried to make himself look small and coy. Maybe that would work.

 

“Nothing wrong with it. Just distracting.” He dropped the weight back onto the stand with the force of a small elephant. It had no right to be that sexy. But he was already hard and Bucky was being strong and stormy. The perfect combination.

 

He went to say something flirty again, but Bucky held up his hand. It made Clint feel hot and dangerous. This guy had presence. Maybe he should do theatre? Shelve that thought.

 

“I’m gonna wash up. Be in my suite in twenty minutes. Wear something comfortable.” And with that, he stalked off towards the gym shower.

 

Clint made his way back to his floor with composure and grace. Well, he meant to. What he really did was stumble into the elevator again, and bang the navigation panel the whole way to his floor. He tripped over his own two feet trying to remove his sneakers and run the his room. He was excited and clumsy, which is never a good mix. But, dammit, he was high on adrenaline and he was ready to get it on with his second favourite Russian assassin.

 

He stood in front of his closet for, like, ten years trying to work out what to wear. His dom told him to wear something comfortable, but he didn’t want to look like he hadn’t made an effort. He almost wore his leather booty shorts, encrusted with diamantes proclaiming him a ‘Little Slut.’ He eventually decided against it, ‘cause it was hot out and leather sweats like nothing else.

 

He went with a pair of nice velvet lounge pants and a crop top. Just enough skin to be sensual, but still casual enough to look like he’d just rolled out of bed on a weekend. The delicate balance he’d hoped for.

 

He took the stairs up to Bucky’s floor. A glance to the wall clock on the way up told him he was five minutes late. He hadn’t meant to be, but now he was, he took his sweet time. Maybe this would give Barnes an excuse to do that sexy thing he did with his jaw when someone (Steve) did something stupid on a mission. God, he hoped Bucky would get mad at him.

 

He sidled into Bucky’s room with a seductive smirk on his face. The man he was looking for was sitting on the edge of his bed, watching the door.

 

“Kneel for me. Hip width apart. Hands behind your back.” he murmured from his perch.

 

Clint made a show of slowly kneeling down, getting the form just wrong enough that he’d have to be corrected. Hopefully with a slap on the thigh. Or face. Or ass. Anywhere, really.

 

He felt the gentlest tap of the foot to the inside of his thigh, while a hand on his shoulder guided him to sit up straight. Not the response he expected, but he could roll with it. Slow and steady wins the race. No need to get ahead of himself, if Bucky wanted to tease he was allowed to.

 

“Safe word?” rumbled the brunet.

 

“Coconut.”

 

Bucky hummed in response, walking a slow circle around Clint. Everything he did was controlled and measured, all his power rippling bellow the surface. He was calculating, every step he took around the room was carefully place. Clint longed make him lose that composure.

 

“Like what you see, Sir?” He whispered, spreading his legs further apart. He thought he must look at least a little enticing now, but Bucky just hummed and continued his circling.

 

And circling. And circling. Followed by circling. Rinse and repeat. For five minutes.

 

“Sir?” asked Clint, trying not to sound petulant. He was a sexy bad boy, just kneeling around being enticing and fuckable. He totally wasn’t getting bored.

 

“Shh.” said Bucky, pressing a finger to his lips. And he circled some more.

 

Now, Clint understood building the anticipation. But this was ridiculous. He’d been here for ten minutes and no one had gotten their dick out yet. He was getting impatient. Not too impatient, be was a sniper after all, he could sit still for a year without losing his cool. He was on edge.

 

He rolled onto his ass. Surely that would get him some sort of reprimand. Bucky stopped his pacing to glare sideways at Clint. Oh, he was in for it now. He could feel it. Anger was filling the room, and his dom was ready to lose his shit. This was amazing.

 

“Kneel, Clint.” he said, as cool as a cucumber. As if he wasn’t fazed at all.

 

Clint was on his way back onto his knees when a thought struck him. _What if I don’t?_

 

So he didn’t. He stayed on his butt on the floor, and looked defiantly up at the frozen figure in front of him. The figure remained frozen for a moment, before turning to face him face to face.

 

“On your knees.” he said, the slightest bit of heat to his tone. About as much heat as those battery-power tea-candles produce. It was still more exciting than his last statement.

 

“Or what, Sir?” he whispered, a mischievous glint in his eye. Things were started to heat up in here.

 

“I thought you got off on taking orders? You wanna get off tonight, right?” Bucky asked.

 

And _yes,_ he did wanna get off. Finally he’d gotten the reaction he wanted. Bucky was starting to get mad, and mad meant he was gonna do something about Clint’s behaviour. And Clint had never really been known when to back down.

 

He rolled onto his knees, but slouched and blew out an exaggerated sigh.

 

“Better. Sit up.” said Bucky, moving as if to keep pacing.

 

“How about you make me?” said Clint. He was gearing up for a fight. A fight he was gonna lose, but winning wasn’t the point.

 

“How about you have some respect?” snapped Bucky, squatting down the adjust Clint’s position gently.

 

“Why should I? Y’ain’t doing anything.”

 

Bucky didn’t respond, standing back up. This time he just stood, watching Clint with that piercing battle stare that he does. It was hot, and made Clint’s skin crawl in an excited way. Finally, the sexy, tortured dom had come to the surface, ready to play. Clint sat up straight, in perfect position.

 

“Good.” said Bucky. “Stay.”

 

And he did, for a while. Longer than he wanted to. Finally, he dropped his hands back to his side, playing with the carpet. He wasn’t going to get attention being a good boy, so he was going to play dirty.

 

“Clint. Hands.” growled Bucky. An angry, masculine sound that only served to turn him on a little bit more.

 

“What?” said Clint. As if he didn’t know what he was doing.

 

“Fix them.” said Bucky, as if it were obvious. Which it was.

 

Clint flipped him the bird. “Like this?”

 

Bucky deadpanned. Clenched his jaw. Breathed in and out a few times. “No.”

 

And then he went back to pacing.

 

“Aren’t you sick of that yet?” whined Clint.

 

“Do you ever shut up?”

 

“Not usually.” smiled Clint.

 

“Well, do it.” said Bucky, stomping a little as he paced.

 

“Or else?” asked Clint.

 

“Or I’ll throw you out.” said Bucky matter-of-factly.

 

“I’d love to see you try.” challenged Clint.

 

And with that, he hoisted the blonde off the floor, and carried him under the arms to the stairwell. He dumped him on the landing and shut the door.

 

In hindsight, Clint should have seen that coming.

**Author's Note:**

> Who caught the Brooklyn Nine-Nine reference?  
> Also, don't kick your fuckbuddies out just because they are being little shits. That's not fun.  
> If you enjoyed this, kudos are great and comments are like author crack. If you have anything you want to see from this series, drop me a comment. No promises, but I'd love to hear your thoughts.


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